-Caveat Lector-
From: [EMAIL PROTECTED]
OPERATION CLYDESDALE--PART TWO
III.
THE MISSION
Approximately six and one half miles from Bonn, West Germany, at the end of a
remote, tightly secured airstrip, which happened to not appear on any
aeronautical charts, the turboprop engines of a Lockheed C-130 shook and
roared to
max power as it began its takeoff roll and lumbered down the long runway.
Steadily
gaining speed, the throttles firewalled, the transport rattled and creaked,
threatening
to come apart at the seams, as it rotated, lifting its broad frame into the
cold night air,
while climbing slowly away from the retreating lights of the CIA isolation
base and
mission staging area.
We were banking into a slow turn, while gaining altitude, the C-130 heading
due east before following a southerly course over the mountainous region of
the
beautiful Bavarian forest which formed the West German frontier with
Czechoslovakia. The course had been most precisely planned to track a narrow
corridor, above and parallel to the commercial airline routes of the area;
the takeoff
time of 2030 hours coinciding with a period of heavy commercial air traffic.
If all went according to our plans our effort to divert attention from the
Czech
radar operators away from the flight path of the C-130 would soon be
augmented by
elements of the United States Air Force, based out of Rhein Main AFB. The
DCI, through proper channels, had requested two formations of fighter
aircraft to fly
border cover for us. The fighters were scheduled to arrive in the border area
at the
same time as the C-130.
Their mission, the true purpose unknown to the pilots, was to conduct high
speed night maneuvers a few miles north of the release point where my Team
would
exit the transport via HAHO parachute jump. All was going according to the
preset
plan. We were nearing the point of no return; a point where the mission would
be
committed to go. I left the cockpit and made my way to the aft section of the
plane.
Jockeying for position, I saw the faces of the men with whom I would be
sharing
nods and last instructions. We were set to go. A firm resolve was visible on
all the
faces .... the team was ready for whatever might come. I found my seat of
nylon webbing, located on the starboard side of the aircraft,
while the vibrations of the deck plates traveled up through my entire body.
The sound
of the engines was somewhat muffled by my helmet, while I listened to the
rhythm
of my own breathing through the demand regulator attached to my oxygen mask.
My
thoughts were concentrated on the mission. The details of the OPS Order were
burned into my memory, along with the countless other details I would have to
call
into play, before the long night ahead was to be over. At the staging area,
and along the flight to Germany, there had been no false bravado or tough
talk about the mission, just a silent confidence and professional
ease. Most of the men had served one or more combat tours in Viet Nam, or
taken
part in some strategic-OPS, planned and orchestrated by our masters in
Langley. To
a man, we were seasoned veterans, ready to do a job. My eyes settled on BXXXX
XXXXX, the CIA paramilitary specialist seated on the opposite side of the
aircraft. XXXXX had been chosen by the Agency to act
as oxygen safety man and jumpmaster for the HAHO insertion. Needless to say I
had
questioned him at length at the isolation base, and was more than satisfied
that
XXXXX was far more than merely qualified to handle the tasks assigned to him.
The
man had made more than two thousand jumps, and had been through special jump
schools during his lengthy tour of service with the Army. We were rapidly
approaching the drop zone, as we continued to monitor each other, making sure
that our systems were being saturated with oxygen, making all the
while sure that we weren't hyperventilating. Such irregular breathing, caused
by stress
or symptoms of hypoxia. We had been prebreathing pure oxygen for thirty
minutes
prior to take off from the staging area, and would continue to take in such
oxygen for
the duration of the thirty minute flight to the release point, saturating our
systems for
the jump. our safety margin was slim as continued to climb to thirty-three
thousand
feet. At that altitude, hypoxic effects could occur within 45 seconds. We
removed the arming pins to permit our main chutes to open at the twenty-five
hundred feet level, in the event that any member of the team became
dysfunctional or physically incapable of deploying the chute after exiting
the aircraft.
The aircraft had reached thirty-three thousand feet and was now fully
depressurized to the outside air pressure in preparation for the opening of
the tailgate
ramp.
Despite the inefficiency of the heater in the cargo bay, the team was well
insulated from the ice cold air. Upon arrival at the isolation base, we had
turned in
all clothing and personal effects, including all items of identification. We
were issued
forged Czech identification papers, the equivalent of seventy-five dollars in
Czech
crowns, and the sterile and untraceable clothing and equipment stored at the
site for
our mission. We wore East German boots, socks, underwear, and thermal
longjohns.
These were worn beneath Czech made civilian slacks, shirts and parkas. A one
piece,
insulated jumpsuit, light gray color, and gloves worn as the outer laver,
would
provide the additional protection which we would need against the
fifty-degree-
below-zero temperature and sixty mile an hour winds which we would experience
while exiting the aircraft at thirty-three thousand feet. The helmets,
goggles, and
oxygen masks, completely covered our faces and heads. There was no skin
exposed
for frostbite by and through the high-altitude temperatures and the
wind-chill factor
as we descended under canopy.
Our teams primary weapons consisted of German made H&K (Heckler & Koch) sound
suppressed nine-millimeter submachine guns. We carried them secured
to our sides on the outside of the jumpsuits. In such position they provided
for ready
access in the event of trouble at the landing site. The wet team members also
carried
Walther twenty-two caliber sound suppressed automatic pistols. They were
carried
in shoulder holsters, beneath the parkas. Extra magazines of ammunition were
stored
in the bellows pockets of the parkas, along with the freeze dried rations,
and two
mini-grenades, which were to be used in the event of ambush or to break
contact with
a superior force. In addition to these items I carried a small satellite
relay radio,
attached to the small of my back. All of the equipment used to bring us to
the drop
zone would be discarded and left before leaving, dressed as civilians. The
tension and adrenaline flow increased as we saw XXXXX give the six minute
warning. I pulled down my goggles and responded to another oxygen check,
as the red lights went on over the tailgate. The huge cargo bay resonated
with the
high pitched whine of hydraulic motors as the tailgate was lowered to its
horizontal
position, forming a ramp on which we were to stand. Frigid air filled the
entire aft
section of the aircraft, as a gaping black hole opened to the night sky. Four
minutes later, our sense heightened, our eyes clear and alert, we received
our two minute warning. It brought the start of the jump commands. In
response to
the first command (XXXXX raising an outstretched and an open hand upward), we
got to our feet, conducted an equipment check, and prepared to disconnect
from the
oxygen console.
At the one minute warning, we activated our individual oxygen systems, known
as the "bail out bottles", which would sustain us through our descent to ten
thousand
feet, where we could safely breathe the available air. The steel bail out
bottles, stored
in the compartment on the side of the parachute pack tray, were actually two
small
high-pressure canisters, specifically designed for high altitude jumps to
provide a
demand regulated thirty minute supply of pure oxygen, with most of the
moisture
removed to prevent the oxygen-mask valves from icing. We disconnected from
the main and on board system, checking each other to make sure that our units
functioned
properly. We remained standing, ready to exit the aircraft. The command came
.... we moved slowly, and in unison to the rear of the aircraft. We were
huddled and standing together three feet from the end of the ramp.
The main reason for standing so close was to assure us a fast out, and
limited lateral
dispersion. All systems were go as we switched on our secure inter team
radios. The
headsets were built directly into the helmets with a voice activated
microphone at our
throats. Through this equipment we would be able to communicate with each
other
from a distance of up to three miles during our descent. I gave my thumbs up
signal to indicate that I was ready. The rest of the team followed suit.
XXXXX raised his arm which was bent at the elbow. A single finger
pointed upward. All eyes were on the jumpmaster as the green light came on.
His
extended finger jabbed vigorously toward the exit. It was time to go. I was
the first
man in the line and moved the last three feet to infinity. Without thinking,
I stepped
away from the metal of the aircraft. The operation had begun. All in all the
descent went rather smoothly. we remained close together, all the
while calling to each other and monitoring our descent. The chutes were more
like
paragliders, and therefore steerable to any compass point. The HAHO (High
Altitude
High Opening) exercise had gone well. Soon we were gathering the shrouds
around
us, monitoring the location of each team member. The local agent, using night
vision
goggles had spotted us. We were met, and began the process of evaluating the
raw
data and information, which would bring us to the target property.
Considering the
nature of nighttime operations all had gone quite well. We launched ourselves
toward
the objective. It was cold and dark during the late winter night, but the
mere thought
of the young lad, less than five miles away, spurred us on. We wanted to be
there
within a short period of time, and coordinate the rescue of our
subject-child. No
voices were heard as we began the trek to the property. Our Deltas had
performed in their usual and professional manner. They established point and
rear guard, permitting us the leisure of walking in a sweeping
formation. All in all we were making excellent time. Within thirty minutes, I
signaled
for a stop. That permitted the me to eat a candy bar, or use the outdoor
facilities. We
were ahead of schedule. There was no need to push ourselves, knowing that
within
the hour, after all intelligence had been processed, the shooting match would
begin.
The weapons were held at the ready, in case unexpected company were to drop
by.
With comfortable thoughts, I placed my hands over the shoulder holster,
feeling the
cool smooth touch of the Walther. This was, and still is, the weapon of
choice for the
professional in the field.
The signal was given to resume the trek. Absolute silence would now be called
for as we were entering the outer perimeter of the target zone. The slightest
sound.
could conceivably jeopardize the success of our mission. There was truly very
little
room for error. Mistakes in our line of work tended to be paid for with the
blood of
our own.
We had come to a small stand of trees, trying to remain within the cover of
the
additional darkness provided by the evergreens. The road ran parallel to the
trees and
was therefore an immediate landmark for our journey. A sudden flash of
brilliant
light flooded the stand of trees, turning the night into glaring day. All of
us froze in
midstep for a brief second before reacting instinctively, and dropping flat
unto the
ground which was covered with ankle deep grass. We unslung our weapons as we
fell. I had already returned to the edge of the treeline, crawling on my
stomach into
the sparse underbrush. The other men, caught in the open, began crawling
towards
me in an attempt to reach the woods and the little cover they provided. The
glare of the floodlights concealed their source at the far end of the
clearing, about forty-five yards away. A voice came out of the darkness,
amplified
by a bullhorn, shattered the accustomed silence. It left no doubt in my mind
that we
had dropped into a well organized ambush situation. Although the harsh words
were
muffled by my headgear - we re nonetheless clearly heard. "Lay down your
weapons and walk to the center of the field with your hands raised above your
heads," the high pitched, heavily accented voice ordered. "There
is no possibility of escape. Do as you are instructed or you shall all be
killed."
The fact that the voice had spoken in English was not lost on me. It made the
situation explicitly clear. They were expecting Americans. Cursing under my
freezing
breath, I scanned the opposite end of the field. Squinting into the lights I
readily
determined that they had been arranged in a half circle, just inside the
other side of
the woods. It didn't take a great deal of deduction to determine that the
troops and
security forces were lying deployed, in the same manner, providing them
fields of
fire, all the while permitting them coverage of the entire clearing. It was
doubtful that
they would be foolish and endanger their own men. The team was now within ten
yards of my position, at the edge of the woods. The curses I heard through my
headset reminded me that all the interteam radios were still on. Under my
breath I
told them to keep moving straight ahead. I was directly in front of them, and
was
therefore able to provide a little support in the event that shooting erupted
from the
hostile force.
The silence was broken again. This time by a single short burst from an
automatic weapon. one of the Czech soldiers on the left flank of the half
circle
formation had broken fire discipline. The others, assuming the burst had been
a signal
to open fire, joined the melee. Within a matter of two or three seconds, the
night air
was filled with the sharp, staccato sounds of automatic weapons, as a chain
reaction
from the hostile forces sent a flurry of rounds across the clearing. The
rounds sent a
cracking through the underbrush causing spouts like small fountains of soil
and other
debris from the ground around the team. I heard two distinct cries of pain.
The
sounds and voices made the situation clear. One of my men was hit in the leg,
while
the other took a series of rounds in the upper chest region. I scrambled
quickly to my left, crashing through the woods to attain a position
where I could return fire without hitting my own men. The thought struck me
why the local asset had not been more accurate in assuming control of the
drop zone and the line of march to the Target Zone. However, there was little
time to really consider the whys or the hows. It was imperative to secure the
team and prepare them for a front guard delaying action. The
team had to be split up if we were going to be able to move against the
target proper
and extract the subject child. Through the interteam radio I instructed the
men as to
what was expected of them. To a man everyone cooperated and followed the
prescribed path. The Delta Group began to open fire on the ground forces,
pinning
them with accurate small arms fire, while others began to lob the mini
grenades into
the ranks of the hostile forces. One of the Deltas, a sharpshooter of great
reknown,
began the process of shooting out the floodlights. Soon we were bathed in
pitch
darkness. It would take several minutes for the opposing team to regain their
night
vision, and I hoped above all hope that during this brief period of time, I
would be
able to gather the kill force and proceed to the target, less than one-half
mile away.
The diversions worked well, opening a corridor for forward movement to the
target. Crouched and perspiring from the excess adrenalin pumped into our
systems,
we forged ahead. Within a few minutes, we were at the target site. A few hand
signals, coupled with short radio transmissions, we prepared for the assault.
Through
my night vision glasses I was able to determine the strength of the outer
defenses. It
was a job which could be done with nominal loss of life. Quickly I positioned
the
team for the assault. I placed the satellite-relay radio into XXXXXXX's
hands, motioning him to remain behind and to secure our retreat after
finishing the assigned
tasks. The entire team opened up on the target. The noise and the smell of
automatic
weapons' fire filled the cold night air. We crossed the little makeshift
forest clearing
and crouched at the walls of the target. on the count of three, we broke open
the main
entry door and flooded the interior, with guns blazing. There were men and
women
everywhere. However, the subject had not yet been seen by any of us. Rounds
of automatic weapons fire rained indiscriminately at the occupants of the
building.
Chests and heads exploded as the rounds impacted with soft tissue. Spraying
fountains of red glistened in the soft light of the rooms. No one was spared
by the
angry buzz of our weapons. Death had taken command of the, room. With speed
we forged ahead into the other parts of the building. Room by room the search
for the subject child continued. We had come a long way to retrieve the
subject and were not at all prepared to vacate the premises of death without
the child.
No amount of noise or pandemonium would be able to stop us from completion of
the mission.
Doors popped open, displaying the occupants. There were no questions asked,
or lengthy discussions held. Each room was sprayed with steel until all
movement
had ceased. After all, the operation orders clearly specified that we were
not required
to take any prisoners.
We arrived on the landing of the second floor. Several occupants of the house
had decided to return fire and attempt to save their lives. None of the
return fire could
have been termed as effective resistance. None of the men or women had the
slightest
chance. Sure, there was the odd round which came close to hitting one or more
of my
men. However, as indicated, the resistance was slight and shallow. Soon we
would
be involved in the mop up segment of the operation. I arrived at what
appeared to have been a corner salon. Kicking the door off the hinges I
gained entry. A quick sweep of the room indicated that our subject child was
present. He was flanked by what appeared to have been two men,
wearing hoods and bright scarlet clothing. The taller of the two had an open
front pair
of pants. His genitals were exposed as he bent over the child. Closer
examination of
the situation disclosed that the man had a stiletto like knife in his hands.
He made the
motion of drawing it toward the subject. At that very moment Pauley came
flying
through the door. Without considering the field of fire, he sanctioned the
man with
the knife. With a shriek of pain the man doubled over and collapsed on to the
floor.
He had taken four rounds to the chest. Surely, he was dead before his bullet
riddled
body hit the floor.
I came to the lad, covered. him with a bedspread from the massive king size
bed, and began to softly whisper into his ear. Over and over again I told him
that we
were friends, and that we were there to bring him back home. There wasn't
even the
slightest spark of recognition or emotion in his cold and seemingly chiseled
face. He
appeared traumatized and therefore incapable of any response. The bedspread
fell from the child's shoulder, exposing his left side. I was not
prepared for the scene. The child had been tortured and brutally marked with
branding irons. Multiple tiny red scars, delineating pentagrams were etched
into his
bruised and torn skin. The boy was in immediate need of extensive medical
attention.
By this time, the gunfire had become sporadic, down below. We were ready to
finish the mission and extract ourselves from further involvement. I rallied
the
team and issued the necessary field orders to terminate all targets. The
members of
the team began the process of venting the sinus cavities of the remaining
survivors.
No one was spared. The body count was made and preparations to destroy the
building were under way. Mini-grenades, coupled with cooking oil was deemed
appropriate for the task. The pungent odors of blood, urine and feces, became
so
overpowering that I gagged, as I was bringing the boy outside. Bell was
waiting to
make the necessary, in person identification. As soon as he would give the
A-Okay,
we would proceed to the pre-arranged extraction site. Arriving at the rally
point, I began the head count. We had suffered losses. Fuller-Mama/05 had
received a clean head shot from a small caliber weapon. Peters,
the Bear lay in a puddle of blood. He had taken the full load of a
twelve-gauge
shotgun in the chest. There was no spark of life in his terrified and open
eyes.
Spam-Catnip, appeared to have been hit so often that none of his features
were recognizable. by any team member. Larson had received a round in the
face. Although his wounds were not critical, he would never be the same
again. XXXXXXX, in heat of the fire fight, stumbled after arming a
mini-grenade. It had
blown off his entire right hand. He would survive if we could get him out in
time to
tie off his bleeding veins and arteries. I cringed as I looked at the mayhem
about me.
With haste we returned to the perimeter where the Delta Group fought a
losing battle against the hostile ground forces. Simple radio commands
advised them
to fall back and cover our retreat to the pre-arranged extraction site. I
asked for a head
count and was advised that five of the Delta Group had been lost to hostile
fire.
during our raid against the target property. With sad hearts, we began the
labor of
burying our dead, marking clearly the spot of such burials. The walking
wounded
were not cached but rather came with us to the border area, where we were
scheduled
to interdict a flight of Hueys. These birds would bring us to safety and back
to our
side of the border.
We force marched the contingent to the border, waiting only ever so briefly
for the
Delta Team to fall in behind us. In the distance, gun fire was still to be
heard. It didn't
have or carry the urgency it had at the target premises. Hostile helicopters
and armored vehicles could be heard in the distance. We had to
move fast in order to extract ourselves from what was rapidly developing into
a nasty
international incident. The satellite relay radio unit was continuing to burp
messages
to our forces. The Hueys were At the pick-up point. All we had to do was
reach the
border area.
There was no time for discussions or small talk. The operation had been
salvaged, at great cost, while many of our men had suffered the pain of
hostile fire.
I knew deep down in my heart that we had been sabotaged and betrayed by one
or more of our own men. After all, the opposition had been ready and waiting
for us
upon arrival in the little forest. There was no time to reflect upon the
reason for such
betrayal. our every sense was geared in the direction of making it to the
safe place;
the helicopter pick-up point.
The Delta Team was doing a great job of keeping the main force of f our
backs. The overhead whirring of choppers began to fill the air. We looked for
flight
lights, but found none. With fast beating hearts we scrambled for the four
large
creatures which hung from the heavens. We were spotted. A green light was
shown
from the side or belly of one of the birds. A quick reply over the radio
indicated to
the air crews that contact was secured, and that we were ready for extraction.
Within a matter of three minutes we were airborne, winging our way over
the
border. We were safe, leaving the Delta Team to extract themselves from a
highly
volatile situation. They were true professionals and knew what to do to
-escape and
evade capture.
For all intents and purposes, our mission had been accomplished. The
subject
child had been found, secured and transported to freedom. All that remained
was the
task of telling the families of our team-mates that they had died in a formal
training
exercise. No one would ever know what really transpired to take the lives of
their
loved ones. Another team, composed of a sterilization crew and a sanitization
crew,
would soon be fielded to retrieve the bodies of the fallen comrades.
Once again, the true heroes of the operation gave their lives so that
others
might live. For us, the men in the field, it was another repeat of the
operations of the
recent past. I am of course referring to the numerous sabotaged and betrayed
operations, which had cost so many lives, in the jungles of Southeast Asia,
to the
bloody shores of Beirut, Lebanon. For years I have led men into acute danger
situations, and have grudgingly accepted the death tolls which tend to
permeate and
erupt as a result of and from such surgical strikes. The faces of my dead
colleagues
live within my soul. They are my constant companions and shall accompany me,
forever.
During the flight back to where our C-130 was to rendezvous with our
party
I tried, numerous times, to evoke a response from the lad. I was not able to
reach him.
It soon became obvious that the lad was lost and that he had retreated to the
corners
of his mind. No amount of soothing words or coaxing could bring forth the
slightest
response. My heart bled as I watched the stone like face of the young sitting
across
from me.
The C-130 was waiting for us at the pick-up point. They had brought a combat
surgical team with them on the flight down. Lord only knows that we needed
them
ever so desperately. As soon as the most pressing wounds had been tended to,
the lad
began to occupy the time of the doctors and nurses. At first it was
considered to give
the child a sedative. However, that idea was quickly discarded as the medical
team
went through their first stage evaluation. The child was as if dead to any
attempt to
reach him. The assessment of the team was that he would never regain his
mental
faculties. His face had been frozen in a mask of sheer terror, with his hands
appearing
like claws instead of human appendages. It was all we could do not to shed
rivers of
tears.
Viewed from the point of having recovered the child, the mission was a com-
plete success. The pained faces of the wounded was forever to marked in my
mind,
as the C-130 crossed the outer marker, inbound, in final preparation for
landing.
Our debriefing was lengthy and dry. No one accepted responsibility for the
soured operation. The wounded were brought to 97th General Hospital, while
the youth was secreted away, shortly after our arrival in Bonn. To this date
no word has
reached me as to the fate or future of the youth. I can only assume that he
had become a permanent victim of the child-porno-war.
The sun had begun to peek through the clouds as I boarded the Lufthansa
flight from Cologne, Germany to JFK airport. Soon, I would be reporting back
to the
man who authorized the operation. We talked a few minutes over a secured line
from
the American Embassy, earlier that morning, and decided that the soured
operation
was not to be put to bed. We were to go after additional targets, identified
as being
both on American soil, as well as on the European continent. It was far from
over. A
new list had been drafted. Operation Clydesdale would receive the required
additional
funding. We were at war with the perverted pedophile community, both at home
and
abroad. our task was to eradicate the scum, forever. I remembered looking at
the men during the debriefing sessions, wondering what the final outcome
would be. There was little doubt that the lad would never be
able to find a place in the society which had ignored him during the years of
turmoil,
shame and extreme pain. For him, time no longer moved in any rational manner.
He
would become a ward of the federal government.
-----
Aloha, He'Ping,
Om, Shalom, Salaam.
Em Hotep, Peace Be,
Omnia Bona Bonis,
All My Relations.
Adieu, Adios, Aloha.
Amen.
Roads End
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